


Stubborner as Mule

by sahiya



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Food Poisoning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nausea, Sickfic, Vomiting (off screen)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 10:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10488804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: Healthy Sid is stubborn. Sick Sid is stupid stubborn. As mule.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snickfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/gifts).



> This was written for snickfic as part of what I've decided to call my "2017 Fuck Trump H/C Bingo Fundraiser."
> 
> Basically, I created and posted a [custom h/c Bingo card](http://sahiya.dreamwidth.org/736914.html). In exchange for a small donation to an organization working against Trump's agenda, I am happy to write you a hurt/comfort fic based on one of the prompts. I'm offering hockey and Avengers fandoms; see the post for further details and to see which prompts are still available. I don't allow anonymous posting on my Dreamwidth, but you are welcome to comment here with your request.
> 
> Suggested organizations include: Planned Parenthood, the International Rescue Committee, ProPublica or the Center for Investigative Journalism, Emily's List, the Sierra Club or the Environmental Defense Fund, the Trevor Project, the Committee on American-Islamic Relations, and of course the ACLU.

“I'm fine,” Sid groaned.

Crouched next to him on the floor of the hotel bathroom, Geno shook his head. He exchanged a rueful glance with Sally, the trainer who currently had Sid’s wrist in her hand, taking his pulse. “Interesting definition of ‘fine,’ Sid.”

“I can play,” Sid said, starting to sit up. He visibly winced, one hand going to his abs, but pushed through. He didn't get any further than sitting up before he paused, breathing carefully through his nose and looking like he was regretting his life choices.

“Nope,” Geno said. “Can't sit up, can't play.”

“I’m sitting up,” Sid insisted. “I'm just dehydrated. Give me some fluids, I'm good to go.”

“Well, you're definitely getting fluids,” Sally said. “Let's start there and play the rest by ear, okay?”

Geno decided he liked her. She was new, but apparently she already knew better than to bother arguing with Sid. And she hadn't blinked an eye when she'd come in to find Sid lying with his head in Geno’s lap between bouts of puking. ‘Unflappable’ was his favorite quality in a trainer, he decided. 

“I can't sit out a game in Philly because of food poisoning,” Sid muttered. Geno sat down next to him, back against the tub. Sid leaned subtly into him. “They'll give the cook in this hotel a fucking medal.”

“Might not be room service,” Geno pointed out, though he wasn’t sure what else it would be. They’d eaten exactly the same thing at home for breakfast and for dinner the night before, and he felt fine.

“It was the room service,” Sally said, pulling an IV line out if her bag and setting it up. “Mike texted me a couple minutes ago. You had a chicken sandwich, right? A couple other people got sick off it, too.”

Sid’s head had been drifting slowly toward Geno’s shoulder, but it came up at that. “On the team?”

“No, not on the team. This is gonna pinch.” Sid looked away, but Geno watched as Sally slid the needle in. She made a noise of satisfaction and looked up at the bag of saline on the hook on the portable stand. 

“Everyone else go out for lunch,” Geno reminded Sid. “Remember?” Sid never went out to eat in Philly, for good reason. Though he was probably wishing he'd made an exception today. Geno was glad he'd decided to stay in with him – though also really, really glad he'd ordered the pasta bolognese.

“Oh yeah.” 

Sid was listing again, almost like Geno’s body was a magnet, drawing him in. He made a little noise as Sally fitted a thermometer in his ear. It beeped. “101.5,” she reported.

“It'll go down,” Sid mumbled. “The saline’ll bring it down.”

“A little,” Sally agreed. “Probably not all the way, though.”

Sid slid right into Geno’s side, and Geno slung his arm around Sid’s shoulder. Instead of going boneless like Geno had hoped, he stiffened. He shot a narrow-eyed glare up at the bag of saline. “What's in that?”

Sally paused in the middle of stuffing the wrapping from the IV into a garbage bag. “Water and salt, mostly. Electrolytes.”

“No sedative?” Sid asked, suspiciously.

“No sedative,” Sally confirmed. “I wouldn’t drug you without your consent, Sid.”

Sid’s head drooped toward Geno’s shoulder, not quite touching. “Then why am I so tired?”

Geno snorted, but Sally beat him to the punch. “You're exhausted from imitating a dishrag someone was wringing out,” she told him. “And you're running a fever.”

“I'm fine,” Sid said, even as his head dropped the last inch or so to rest on Geno’s shoulder. “Can play,” he mumbled, right before his eyes fell shut and he went quiet.

Geno and Sally exchanged another look. “Better you than me,” she said, shaking her head and pushing herself to her feet. “I need to check in with Mike.” She squeezed Geno’s shoulder as she took her phone into the other room. Geno listened to the rise and fall of her voice as she talked to Mike, letting him know what was going on with Sid. Geno took Sid’s hand in his and swept his thumb back and forth across the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist. Sid sighed softly.

Sally came back, checked the IV bag and nodded to herself. “We'll wait till this finishes, then we'll move him to the bed.”

“Thanks,” Geno said, looking up at her. “For everything.”

She shrugged. “It's my job.”

“Yeah, but – you're good. Calm,” Geno clarified. He'd been freaking out when he'd called her, shocked about how Sid had gone from smiling and laughing to ghost white and lunging for the bathroom in about five seconds flat.

She smiled at him. “He's going to be okay,” she told him. “He's not playing tonight, and he might miss one more game, depending on how he feels the next couple days, but he's gonna be fine.”

Geno nodded, looking down at Sid’s head. His hair was matted to his forehead with dried sweat, and he smelled like body odor and sickness. And still Geno wished he didn't have to leave him to go play in – shit, in about forty-five minutes.

The IV bag had finally drained. Sally took the needle out of Sid’s arm, and he twitched awake. “Okay?” Geno asked him. 

Sid made an unhappy sound and didn't move. “Thought I'd feel better after the fluids.” 

“Let's get you lying down in bed,” Sally suggested. 

Sid swallowed. “Okay.”

It took Geno and Sally both to get him up, and then there were a few seconds where Geno was basically holding him upright. He finally found his feet, but Geno didn’t dare let go. “I,” Sid said, and swallowed hard, like he was trying not to throw up. There couldn’t be anything left in him after earlier, but Geno supposed that hadn’t mattered before. The dry heaving had been _worse_ to listen to, somehow. 

But Sid eventually got himself under control. He leaned heavily on Geno as they shuffled out of the bathroom. Fortunately, the hotel room was fairly small, and it was only a few feet to the bed. Sally pulled back the covers, and Geno did his best to turn Sid’s imminent collapse onto the bed into more of a controlled fall. 

Sally went back into the bathroom while Geno got Sid undressed down to his boxers and tucked in. He found the garbage can under the sink and moved it over by the bed, then sat down on the edge of the mattress and took Sid’s hand again. Sid’s fingers closed over his. 

“When do we have to leave?” Sid asked.

Geno blinked. “Leave?”

“For the game.” Sid managed to turn his head to look at the clock. “Thirty minutes. Just let me close my eyes until then. Can you get my suit out of its bag?”

Geno stared down at him. “Sid. Can’t walk. Can barely hold head up. Can’t sit up, can’t play, remember?”

“Don’t be silly,” Sid said, even though he sounded half-asleep. “Wake me up in thirty minutes?”

“No,” Geno said flatly.

“ _Geno_ ,” Sid said, drawing Geno’s name into a couple extra syllables. 

Geno glared, not promising a damn thing. “Fine.” Sid fumbled for his phone on the bedside table. “I’m setting my alarm. _Don’t_ touch it.” 

Sid stared at him, eyes glittering with fever. Geno sighed. “I not touch,” he promised. 

“Good,” Sid said, and closed his eyes. Geno sat with him until he was sure he was asleep – which took about fifteen seconds, because Sid was sick as a damn dog and shouldn’t have been awake at all. 

Sally was cleaning up the bathroom when Geno went and stuck his head in. “Sid still think he gonna play,” he told her, exasperated. 

“He’s not thinking clearly,” she said, sealing the Biohazard bag she’d put the needle from the IV line in. “But don’t worry, Mike won’t let him hurt himself. And I don’t think he’s going to be able to get out of bed anyway.”

“Yeah,” Geno said. “But you not have to deal with stubborn, grumpy Sid. _I_ have to deal with stubborn, grumpy Sid.”

She grinned. “My partner’s a big baby when he’s sick, too. It’s all part of it.” She checked her watch. “I have some stuff to do before we leave for the arena. You need anything else?”

“No. Will call if need back-up.” But Geno thought he knew how to handle it. Sid was going to have to decide for himself that he was too sick to play, and Geno was pretty sure he knew how to make that happen. 

After Sally left, Geno ducked through the adjoining door and into his room, where he changed into his game day suit. He texted a couple of the guys who’d asked how Sid was doing, and then got into a long WhatsApp conversation with his mom about the best remedies for an upset stomach. By the time he signed off, Sid’s phone was going off in the other room. 

It took a long time for Sid to wake up. Geno leaned in the threshold of the adjoining doorway and watched. Sid had clearly been deeply asleep. He shifted unhappily, groaning, and sneaked a hand out from under the covers to silence the alarm. It took him a few tries; he kept missing the button, it looked like. Then he just lay there, staring dazedly at the ceiling like he didn’t even know where he was. Maybe he didn’t. 

Geno cleared his throat. Sid looked at him. “How you feel?” Geno asked. 

“Better,” Sid said, unconvincingly. “I’m fine to play. Just need to get my suit on.”

Geno nodded. “Okay.”

Sid frowned. “Really? I thought you’d argue a lot more about it.” 

Geno shrugged. “Here is deal, Sid. You get up, put suit on, you can play. I not argue. You can’t get up, or can’t put suit on, you go back to bed. No suit, no play. Seem fair?”

“Seems fair,” Sid agreed. He pushed the covers down to his waist and started to sit up. He stopped, grimacing. Geno bit his tongue and watched him inch up a little further, finally getting an elbow under him. Then he stopped, head hanging down. He breathed carefully, swallowing hard. 

It broke Geno’s heart, seeing him like this. He’d promised himself that he’d hang back and let Sid decide for himself that he wasn’t able to play, but he couldn’t not say anything. “Sid,” he said softly, “you still sick. Let team take care of game.”

“I can’t,” Sid said, opening his eyes. “It’s fucking _Philly_. You know what they’ll say about me if I miss the game”

“So? Stupid people say stupid shit, happen all the time. Happen if you play in game, too.”

Sid shook his head. “I can do this, I can –” He pushed himself up all the way, even though it clearly hurt, and then he swung his legs off the mattress. For a second, Geno thought he was going to stand up through sheer force of will, and he might _actually_ have to call Sally and Mike to come back him up. But then Sid just sat there, slumped over with his head practically between his knees. 

Geno waited a few seconds, but Sid didn’t move. The only reason Geno didn’t assume he’d passed out was that he was still upright. His eyes were shut and he was perfectly white, and Geno was just _done_ with all of this. He grabbed the trash bin and put it between Sid’s legs, just in case. Then he knelt down and put his hand on the back of Sid’s neck. 

“Sid? Okay?”

Sid dragged his eyes open. He pitched forward, landing against Geno’s shoulder. “Yeah, I...I don’t think I’m playing tonight.”

“Could have told you.” Geno paused. “Wait. _Did_ tell you.”

“You gonna snark me right now, Geno?” Sid said, but he didn’t sound mad. Tired and maybe just a tiny bit amused. “Seriously? I’m sick.”

“Sick and stubborn as mule. _Stubborner_.”

“That’s not a wor –”

“ _Stubborner_ ,” Geno repeated. “As mule.”

Sid gave him a tiny smile. “Yeah, maybe I am.” He groaned. “Oh God, I think I’m dying. Help me lie down?”

“First smart thing you say all day,” Geno sighed. 

“Damn,” Sid grunted as Geno helped ease him back down. “I feel like I did about five hundred inclined crunches. With weights.” 

“You were very sick,” Geno said carefully, actually bothering to get the tense right for once. He lifted Sid’s feet onto the bed for him, so he wouldn’t have to use any of his abused abdominal muscles. “Scared me a little.”

Sid actually looked kind of contrite at that. “I’m sorry.” He bit his lip. “Scared me too, kind of.”

“Is okay,” Geno said, pushing sweaty hair off Sid’s forehead. He was still much too warm. “How you feel?”

Sid grimaced. “Like shit. I hurt so much all over. I don’t think I’ve felt this bad since my concussion.” He closed his eyes, turning his face into Geno’s palm. “You’re right, I can’t play like this. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Fever talking,” Geno said, pressing the back of his hand to Sid’s forehead. “Healthy Sid is stubborn. Fever Sid is _stupid_ stubborn.”

“As mule,” Sid said with another small smile that made Geno feel a lot better. 

Geno glared at him. “No sass. You sass and I leave without getting you soda or wet cloth.”

“No, you won’t,” Sid murmured, eyes still shut. 

“No, I won’t,” Geno agreed. 

He had five minutes before he had to be on the bus. He bought a couple bottles of Sprite from the vending machine and set them on the bedside table. Then he went and got the last clean washcloth from the bathroom and ran it under cold water. 

Sid barely stirred when Geno laid the cloth across his eyes. Geno cracked open one of the Sprites and poured it into a hotel room glass, then leaned down and brushed his lips across Sid’s forehead. “Sleep, Sid. We win for you.”

He made the bus, just barely, and slid into the empty seat next to Fleury. “How’s Sid?” Fleury asked. “I see you managed to keep him from trying to board the bus.”

“Was close,” Geno admitted. “But he too sick to play and know it. Finally.”

“We’ll win for him,” Fleury said confidently.

Sid had been right: the Philly crowd got fucking obnoxious when it was announced that Sid was scratched for the game. Giroux, on the other hand, looked almost _disappointed_ , which maybe surprised Geno more than it should have. His rivalry with Sid had gotten more friendly and less homicidal since they’d played together at Worlds, but Geno wasn’t sure he’d ever shake off all those years of watching Giroux wind Sid up at the face-off dot. 

The game wasn’t all that close in the end: 2-5 in favor of the Pens. Two of the goals were Geno’s, and he had an assist on another. All in all, it was a good effort. But he was really glad to board the bus back to the hotel. He’d kept an eye on his phone during intermissions – something Sid would have disapproved of whole-heartedly if he’d been there to see it – but it’d stayed quiet. 

Sally came with him up to their rooms. Geno let them in, and then went to change out of his suit while Sally looked in on Sid. He changed into clean sweats and a t-shirt and ducked through the adjoining door. 

“99.6,” Sally was saying, putting the ear thermometer away. “How’s the nausea?”

Sid was lying flat on his back, not even sitting up. “Better.”

“Good.” She took his pulse, watching her watch. 

Sid turned his head to glance over at Geno and smiled. “You won for me.”

“Yep. You watch?”

“No,” Sid admitted. “I slept.”

“Good,” Geno said firmly. He sat down next to Sid on the mattress and brushed a hand over his forehead. “Sleep is best. Better than watch hockey and get mad.”

“Yeah.” Sid’s head bumped his hip. “Didn’t have much choice, anyway. I’m so tired.”

“You’re going to be feeling this for a couple of days,” Sally said, setting his hand back down on the mattress. “But you’re on the mend. Take it easy, though – bland food and no dairy, and no practice for at least forty-eight hours. Come see me then and we’ll reassess. You’ll probably need to work with the nutritionist to gain back a few pounds.”

Sid nodded. “Thanks, Sally.”

“No problem.” She nodded at the soda on the bedside table. It didn’t look like Sid had touched it. “Drink as much of that as you can before you sleep. Feel free to text me if you start feeling worse, all right?” Sid nodded. She gathered up her bag, winked at Geno, and left. 

Geno grabbed a Gatorade and a protein shake for himself out of the stash in the fridge and crawled into bed beside Sid. He sat up against the headboard. Sid, wincing, managed to inch his way into a sitting position, or at least a vaguely upright leaning position, against Geno’s chest. Geno reached for the glass of Sprite, now kind of flat, and wished they had a straw. But Sid’s hand was steady enough that he could hold it himself. 

For a few seconds they were quiet, both absorbing fluids. Sid’s head rested heavily against Geno’s chest in between sips. “Tell me about the game,” he finally said. 

Geno shrugged. “Was good game. Two goals and assist for me.”

“Good job,” Sid said. Geno couldn’t really see his face, but he sounded like he was smiling. 

“Think Giroux miss you. He look grumpy when they say you scratched. But maybe just his face. Claude Giroux have face like Grumpy Cat.”

Sid chuckled, then groaned, pressing a hand against his abs. “No jokes, G. Ow.”

“Sorry,” Geno said, and kissed the top of Sid’s head. 

Sid drained the last of his Sprite. Geno took the glass from him and refilled it. “Claude actually texted me after the game to ask if I was all right. I told him his stupid city gave me food poisoning.”

“Huh.”

“It was actually kind of sweet. He offered to have soup delivered to the hotel. I told him that was what I had you for.”

“You want soup?” Geno asked, sitting up straighter. “I get you soup.” He reached for his phone. It was late, but Philly was a big city, they could probably find a deli that’d bring them some chicken noodle. “Do not need _Claude Giroux_ ,” he muttered, already opening up the Seamless app on his phone. 

“No, no soup,” Sid said. “I think this Sprite is enough. We can try soup tomorrow.”

“I make you soup,” Geno promised, setting his phone back down on the bedside table. “Mama send recipe for _best_ soup.” He nuzzled into the short hair at the nape of Sid’s neck, pressing a kiss there. 

Sid squirmed a little, then settled against him again. “That sounds really nice.” He took a sip of his soda. “I’m not sure how much more I can drink right now.”

“Finish glass, then we sleep,” Geno said. “Can have more if wake up thirsty.”

“Okay,” Sid said, and swallowed the last little bit of it. Geno took the glass from him and set it on the nightstand. 

Geno stroked a hand through Sid’s hair. “You want I sleep in here with you? Or need whole bed for good sleep?” As badly as he _wanted_ to stay with Sid, there was a reason they slept in separate rooms on the road and sometimes at home. They were both big guys, and Sid was neurotic about his sleep schedule, especially the night before games. He wasn’t going to take it personally, Geno told himself firmly, if Sid decided he needed to sleep without him tonight. 

But it ended up being a moot point. “I want you to stay in here,” Sid said, leaning into him. “We don’t have a game tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to sleep no matter what.”

“Good,” Geno said. “I want sleep here, too.”

It took them a few minutes to get comfortable. Sid had trouble moving at all, his stomach muscles were so sore, and Geno had to help him roll over onto his side so he could spoon up behind him. He draped an arm over Sid’s waist, pressing one of his hands to Sid’s stomach, spreading his fingers out. 

Sid made a noise, low in his throat, and leaned back against him. “Rough day.”

“Little bit,” Geno agreed. “Over now, though. Go sleep, wake up better tomorrow.”

“Hope so.” Sid sighed. “Love you, G.” 

“Love you, too, Sid,” Geno said softly. He stayed awake, holding Sid carefully, until Sid’s breathing evened out and deepened. Then he closed his eyes and followed him into sleep. 

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Want a fic? Claim a [prompt](http://sahiya.dreamwidth.org/736914.html)!


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